


Wolfskin

by veyl



Series: Once upon a time [1]
Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fairy Tale, Alternate Universe - Magic, Alternate Universe - Royalty, Curse Breaking, Curses, Implied genyatta, Light Angst, M/M, Mutual Pining, Prince Genji Shimada, Spells & Enchantments, based on the fairytale Donkeyskin, comtesse amélie guillard, court physician ana amari, disgusting self-indulgence HELLO, dukes jack and gabriel, emperor!hanzo shimada, hanzo is no swooning princess so jot that down, hidden identity, king!jesse mccree, king’s advisor fareeha, playing with the idea of kotodama, something something far far away, take a shot every time i call hanzo beautiful, zenyatta is there in passing at the very end (sorry!)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-30
Updated: 2018-03-31
Packaged: 2019-04-14 16:28:10
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 11,893
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14139942
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/veyl/pseuds/veyl
Summary: When Hanzo refuses to obey the clan elders, they place a curse on him so that he may not say who he is or indeed that he is cursed. Then he must go into hiding, for a chance to break the curse, and to reclaim his title and very name.He journeys to a land far across the sea. And what he finds there is not quite what he expects.





	1. Chapter 1

**T** here once was an emperor who was the most feared ruler in his kingdom. Powerful in peace and wrathful in war, he was frightful but just and thus revered across the land. He reserved a kindness only for his sons; the eldest, Hanzo, who was groomed to take over as emperor, and his youngest, Genji, who enjoyed the spoils of the family wealth.

Their beautiful castle sat on the shore of a stunning lake, with surrounding extravagant gardens and idyllic cherry blossom trees; filled with an army of advocates, accountants, secretaries and advisors. Their court boasted many remarkable creatures of every description, but most phantasmal perhaps was the image of a wolf that was said to keep watch over the Shimada family. The wolf was a loyal guardian who lived under the cherry trees, but it would appear only in times of great sorrow, to provide protection or guidance.

Then suddenly the emperor fell ill and neither ordinary medicine nor extraordinary magics were able to arrest the disease which increased daily; first it took his mobility and then his eyesight. Finally, in his last hour, the emperor called on his eldest son and said to him: “Promise me that, when I am gone, you will take good care of your brother. His freedom displeases the clan elders, but without his freedom Genji would be lost. Promise me this, my son, and rule justly so that I may die peacefully.”  

The prince accepted his father’s wishes, and shortly thereafter the king died in his arms.

For a time the princes grieved, each in his own way. Hanzo poured harder over his books, so that he may better fill in his father’s shoes. He allowed Genji his pursuits, though he worried over him only as brother may worry for brother. They found comfort in one another during early morning meditation on the lakeshore, and tried their best to go on as they were.

They knew not that this was only the beginning of their troubles.

 

**-**

 

**I** t is on a spring day that Hanzo is called to attendance with the clan elders. He puts it off as much as he can; they always did make him feel as if there was something wrong with him, uneasy and uncertain. They are a frightful bunch, not so proud and wise as his father had been, but scornful all the same. Watching always from the shadow until Hanzo should slip or break, so that they can come out and pick at his bones.

He might avoid them forever if he did not worry for their schemes.

So he goes, and it is dull and dreadful as always: strings of suggestions on how best to manage the castle, the kingdom, himself and his brother. They want him to be cruel and Hanzo thinks not that, never that.

“And concerning your wayward brother,” they tell him. “You should straighten him out. So that he, too, might help rule the Shimada Empire.” Their orders always have been concealed poorly as well wishes or desires, and there is warning in their words. Still they are something to consider. After all, it would bring Hanzo great joy if his brother should wish to join him in rule. It is his rightful place, to stay by Hanzo’s side. His birthright.

However Hanzo expects his brother to refuse, as he had in the past. Try as he might he cannot convince Genji, and there is of course the promise he made his father to keep. Thus he seeks wisdom under the cherry trees, hoping that the wolf might guide him.

He prays and prays until at last the wolf appears before him, a great brown beast with piercing yellow eyes. The wolf asks, “What troubles you, little emperor?” So Hanzo explains how he made a promise to his father, but that the clan elders wish him to break that promise. “And what is it that you wish?” the wolf asks him. Hanzo says, “Only that my brother remains safe.”

“There is power in words,” says the wolf. “If you speak your intent, your spirit will guide them.” And that is all he says, for when Hanzo starts on more questions, the wolf disappears.

More and more the clan elders insist that Genji should come to heel or otherwise be punished. This frightens and saddens Hanzo. Finally he refuses them outright: he will not be the one to take away his brother’s freedom. He thinks on what the wolf has told him and to the clan elders he says this: “You who wish harm upon Genji, oh heartless ones, you will not be able to touch him so long as I shall live and rule.”

And the clan elders grow angry, for they know the words that are spoken so and brought to life. Many years ago, when Hanzo and Genji had been born, their father the emperor had woven a similar spell. But with his death the magic faded and his sons left naked to the world. Now indeed so long as Hanzo lived and ruled, Genji again would be safe from the clan elders. But one cannot place a spell on himself, so in their wrath the clan elders say to Hanzo: “Then you, Hanzo Shimada, will not be worthy to rule as our emperor.” And with these dark words they place a curse on Hanzo so that he would not be able to tell anyone who he is or that he is cursed.

Again Hanzo goes to the cherry trees, seeking the wolf. He finds Genji there and tells him haltingly: “You must leave here, my brother, and flee as far as you can go. You cannot ask me why.” And Genji tells him: “I think so too, brother, and you must do the same. For I overheard the clan elders and I fear for your life.”

At this the guardian wolf appears before them both. The magnificent beast walks around them, its yellow eyes sharp on the brothers. “Hear now, little emperor, and heed my words,” it says. “Before you go take your brother’s _wakizashi_ and strip me off my skin. Wrap yourself in it so that you may remain hidden from those who wish you harm. Then flee east across the sea as far as the ship will take you.”

“I cannot,” Hanzo says, ill at the thought of such a horrendous act. “If I do this, then who will protect the family?” The wolf appraises him critically and says, “If you do not, there might be no family to protect.”

“And my brother,” Hanzo starts and the wolf speaks over him: “Fear not for your brother, for so long as you live your spell will remain strong. Go now, little emperor, and do as I say.”

So it is with a heavy heart that Genji fetches his blade for Hanzo. He helps wrap the wolf skin around his brother’s shoulders and rubs mud from the lake over his face. Hanzo says to Genji: “We must separate. If I am found you will not be safe.” And Genji holds him crying as he promises, “I will go west and seek out the Shambali. Perhaps they will know of a way to break your curse. Stay hidden until I come find you. I will come find you when it is safe. Hurry now.”

So Hanzo goes with only his family ring on his hand and the wolf skin on his back.

For twenty days he sails across the sea until at last the ship finds shore. He extends a hand and works where he must as he makes his way farther into a new country. But the wolf skin makes it difficult; some avoid him entirely, frightful of his appearance and some turn him away, all but disgusted. Still some offer kindness, a bit of food for the journey, a coin in exchange for menial work. Some offer him clothes but Hanzo refuses, wraps himself in wolf skin a little tighter, pulls it a little lower over his head.

For twenty days past towns and villages, further still through a forest he goes. There, he thinks, he might hide, but something urges him on and he thinks, _Not here, not yet._ He pushes on until he finds himself at the end of the forest, at the edge of a desert

and he comes upon a castle built into stone.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wanted to post this chapter so bad that, despite my better judgement, I rushed the first one. Hopefully I will make some edits in the future, but for now
> 
> Enjoy ❤

**T** he wolf waits for Hanzo at the edge of the forest, somehow bigger than before and its fur gone white. It sits quite still under a tall pine tree, eyes turned towards the castle that sits high above a gorge. It does not speak to Hanzo and when Hanzo looks again it is gone.

Still it is as good a sign as any that this is where Hanzo should stay. He looks for work in the dry land, seeks shelter among the common folk and the servants, and finds someone that knows someone who might employ him. He starts with the most menial tasks, like carrying water from the well or cleaning out the stalls. He helps on the farms where the forest has been cleared and finds home inside a hut between the trees. They do not want him inside the castle walls; they say gentle ladies might faint at the sight of him.

They call him Wolfskin. “How dreadful,” they say when they see him. Even the other servants dare not come too close; they get used to the wolf skin, perhaps, but still they whisper: “He must have some disease or perhaps he is disfigured.” But they leave him alone, for the most part. Hanzo only works where they let him and stays out of their way.

Through the gorge flows a freshwater stream, reflecting the blue skies that seems fallen in the water. Though the sky looks clear and tranquil most days, the stream best reflects Hanzo’s inner turmoil. He looks for a way down and finds one safe but guarded. He has no desire to be seen, so he takes nights to scale the rock in secret. On Sundays he sheds the wolf skin, washes himself and looks for his reflection in the water. In the small light of the moon, he looks faraway and pale, only a memory of the man he used to be.

Days pass, one sunup to sundown after another, and he works hard so that he can sleep. Once exhaustion seeps into his bones, his mind has not the time to worry. Sunup to sundown and he settles almost comfortably into the role of Wolfskin. Here it is clear what is expected of him; here there are no half-truths in the tasks he is given and by completing them he can do no one any harm.

Still he stands out in the worst way, so that no one wishes to look at him twice. They only tell him, “You better hide. If the king sees you he might throw you out.” Hanzo thinks the king must be vain or cruel. He is curious to see the king who must be surrounded by riches, but would cast him out for his appearance. It is fortunate, he thinks, that the king does not come to look at the common folk then.

But the king does come, to Hanzo’s surprise and not in a way he expects him. He hears the excited whispers before he sees him but he hasn’t the time to hide; he is out in the open, working the farms that day. And the king walks among his servants like it is entirely ordinary that he is not above them on the back of his horse. There are no courtiers or guardmen either, only one woman following close by, dressed in military gear, with a strange tattoo under one eye. His advisor and closest friend if Hanzo remembers.

The king is young and handsome and unlike anything Hanzo imagined. He admires the crops and thanks the servants for their hard work. He seems to have a kind word for everyone; the old man who he knows by name, and the young girl who only just started to fill in her mother’s shoes; the fair youth who blushes under his attention and the giggling twins that ask with bright eyes to see his sword. Hanzo wonders if he would show such kindness to him, but thinks that surely not. He keeps his head down and keeps working.

“Oh, that’s only Wolfskin.”

Hanzo freezes with his hands on the hoe. He wishes he had somehow hidden after all, he might have known he would not go unnoticed. He listens intently for the voice coming closer; the king’s voice is a low, rumbling noise that sends shivers up Hanzo’s spine

“I was not aware there was anyone like that in court.”

“He has not been here long, Your Highness, and he is dreadful to look at. Come, there is more to see. Do not tire your eyes on such a wretched soul.”

It is easy to ignore such ugly words; Hanzo has heard them plenty before.

It is harder to pass a direct “Thank you, Wolfskin,” shouted as the king is pulled away.

Hanzo’s skin reddens in the sunlight, a fell burn caused by latespring or perhaps overexertion, or even his hammering heart. He shakes himself so that he can continue his task, pulling the weeds and watering the seeds and he does not think of the king who is kind.

 

-

 

 **J** esse is riding out with a company of courtiers and dukes when he hears it. A howl, deep and mournful-sounding, quite unlike the usual high pitch of a coyote and certainly not something he expects to hear. There hadn’t been any wolves in these parts for many years.

He lifts a hand to interrupt Jack, ignoring the indignant expression he is offered in turn, and tries to listen again. “Anyone else hear that?” he asks.

“Hear what?” Gabriel trots closer on his horse, a questioning look in his eye.

“Sounded like a howl,” Jesse tells him and as if responding the forest calls. “There it is again!”

“So what?” says Jack. “Sure we hear those all the time.”

“Not this one,” Jesse says, frowning. “Hey you mind taking the courtiers back? I want to check this out.”

Jack and Gabriel share a look. Finally Gabriel says with a sigh: “Perhaps one of us should accompany you.”

That would be wise, though Jesse is reluctant to agree. There is something in the cry-like call that urges him to go alone. He says, “No, I won’t be long.”

“Then if that is your order, Your Highness.”

“It is,” Jesse says. So the men turn on their horses and hurry the courtiers along as Jesse rides deeper into the forest.

There is nothing at first. No trail or noise to follow, just the birdsong and the shuffle of some small critters scurrying to get out of his way. Then the howl sounds a third time, once Jesse has strayed from the trail. He cannot ride where he wants to go so he gets down from his horse, whispers soothing words and pats its flank before continuing on foot.

He walks for some time, pushing through the thickest growth and ducking under the low-hanging tree branches. He rests a hand on the handle of his sword and listens carefully for anything out of the ordinary. He is so busy staring straight ahead that he almost misses it; a flash of white in the corner of his eye. And then there it is, as if out of thin air, appeared with no warning or sound.

“Heaven have mercy,” Jesse whispers on an exhale.

The wolf is an enormous beast with piercing yellow eyes and glistening white fur. It sits at a distance, just watching. It is a beautiful creature, or perhaps a spirit. Jesse’s mind tells him to run, but his heart feels no danger. His hand slips from his sword. He takes a step forward.

The wolf rises up, picks up its tail, and darts away in the other direction.

“Wait,” Jesse calls and takes off after it, as if possessed by some madness. What is he doing, chasing after such a beast, with only his sword to protect himself? Oh how Ana would scold him if she knew, and Fareeha surely would laugh. But he is tugged by force purer than instinct and very soon he comes upon a structure between the trees.

It’s a... hut. He thinks. It is so small and worn down it might well be a ruin. The wolf that seems to have guided him is now entirely gone. So perhaps Jesse is meant to find something here.

He comes closer, inspecting the tired wood and dirty windows. He takes a peek inside, rubbing an expensive sleeve over the glass with no care. There is no one inside.

“What are you doing here?”

Jesse starts and whips around quickly. He can just barely catch a bewildered look as the man wrapped in wolf skin drops his head and his face is entirely covered.

“Forgive me, Your Highness,” says Wolfskin. “I did not recognize you.”

A moment passes before Jesse realizes he should speak.

“Do not worry yourself,” he says. And then, “Do you live here?”

“Yes,” says Wolfskin. He fidgets with a basket he is holding, mud-caked hands twitching on the handle. He seems uncomfortable, though Jesse is far more intrigued as to why the man should stay all the way out here when they have perfectly good housing and servant’s quarters nearer the castle.

He asks, “Why?”

“I would,” Wolfskin begins to say, pauses, tries again, “I was told I could. I did not- I was told no one was here.”

“Well that’s true,” Jesse says. He was only unaware that there even was such a place so far out. “You’re, uh, you’re not in trouble or anything.”

Silence falls again as Jesse becomes unsure what to say. He is used to knowing near everyone in his employ, but Wolfskin is still something of a mystery. He starts to open his mouth with those words in mind, some sort of question or explanation when Wolfskin speaks: “May I ask what brings you out here, Your Highness?”

“Oh,” Jesse stutters. “Well I was out riding and then- then I heard a wolf cry and I,” he pauses, wondering if he should say anything less the man thinks him mad. He opts for, “You haven’t seen anything, have you?”

There is a little quirk of Wolfskin’s lips as he starts to lift his head, but then he seems to remember himself and dips his head down again. “There are no wolves here, as far as I gather, apart from the one I wear. Though I doubt it can howl any longer.”

He speaks so freely that Jesse is taken aback and he laughs a little. “No, I reckon it can’t.” He looks around, embarrassed, one hand reaching up to rub at his neck. “What’s your name?”

“I am called Wolfskin.”

Well. Jesse supposes he might have expected that one.

“I mean, I heard. That can’t be your name, though, is it?”

“It is the only name I have left.”

Jesse doesn’t know how to reply to that. Wolfskin shifts slightly when the silence has stretched again, goes to set down his basket near the hut. Then he addresses Jesse, once more turned to him politely, head still down. “Is there anything I can do for you, Your Highness?” His tone of voice is nothing if not pleasant, yet Jesse suddenly feels like he might be intruding. He reminds himself quickly that he is king and as such may go where he pleases.

“I like to know every face in my court,” he says. “Would you lift your head so that I may remember yours?”

It seems to be the wrong thing to say as Wolfskin immediately stiffens.

“Is that an order, Your Highness?”

Now Jesse does not think himself unkind, though he does expect obedience from his subjects. The common folk do not usually challenge his requests as direct orders. But Wolfskin seems intent on staying hidden unless Jesse voices his command.

Instead he says, “You always wear that skin, why is that?”

“I am certain some word has spread already,” says Wolfskin. He must be referring to the rumour of his disfigurement. “Though I beg forgiveness if it offends Your Highness.”

“It’s alright,” Jesse says. “It is I who should be sorry. I did not mean to make you uncomfortable.”

Wolfskin only lifts his shoulders a bit and says, “You are the king.”

“Yeah, but that don’t mean I gotta be rude.” Jesse tries what he hopes is a pleasant smile, even though Wolfskin is not looking at his face. With every word his curiosity has been increasing, but the sun is low in the sky and he knows he should be heading back. He says, “I’ll let you get back to work then.”

“Of course, Your Highness.”

He trembles on the journey back through the wood, incomprehensibly ecstatic as he rides back to the castle. Jesse does not think his life especially dull, though his day to day tasks can be somewhat repetitive. Today was anything but and when he falls to bed after supper his dreams are entangled in the forest greens, the little worn hut, and yellow eyes that keep careful watch from a distance.

 

-

 

“ **M** ake way for the Comtesse Guillard.” Hanzo is fetching water from the well when the call sounds from the courtyard. His mind had been unfocused; thoughts stuck circling back to a few days prior when the king had stumbled onto his home in the forest. Or not stumbled, but came guided, and by the wolf no less. Hanzo had questions about that, but the wolf had not appeared for him since first Hanzo came to this kingdom.

In any case, he had been surprised though glad that the king chose to respect his privacy. Now the call brings him out of his stupor and, as the servants pick up their skirts and shuffle away quickly, he picks up his buckets to follow. “You better hide,” someone reminds him. He knows he is unsightly. So he moves past the folk to stand in the shadow of a house. “Make way, make way for the Comtesse Guillard.”

The visiting comtesse rides in on an alabaster horse with two ladies-in-waiting in tow. They pass in a slow trot, three wonderful creatures with the sun at their back. The comtesse holds her head high and Hanzo can’t help a pang of jealousy; how easily that could be him. Yet there he is, stripped of his fine clothes and jewels, of family name and really a name at all. He lifts his head almost unconsciously, seeking that fleeting feeling on the air of someone as dignified as him. It is perhaps by chance or folly that the comtesse looks his way just then; she quirks a curious brow. Feeling suddenly shamed, Hanzo sinks back into the shadow.

The moment passes. The gates close. Wolfskin goes back to work.

Not two days later a servant comes running down to the stalls. With halting breath he explains that the comtesse has requested his presence. “For a task only Wolfskin can perform,” he tells Hanzo. The servant seems certain that this should be just another menial task that the comtesse needs done. He does not understand why she did not just give the order instead of insisting she tell it to Wolfskin in person. Hanzo is inclined to agree with him, though he does not speak as he follows the servant to where the comtesse is waiting.

She had caught his eye briefly that day. Might she have recognized him? Hanzo did not think so, for he did not know the comtesse. Still he worried. If the clan elders had sent men after him, as he sometimes suspected, there was no telling whom word might have reached.

Somewhat unexpectedly, he is led to her private quarters. And though she asks the servant leave them once Hanzo is brought before her, they are not left entirely alone; her ladies-in-waiting are exempt from her word, one curled up in a chair near the fireplace with a book in hand, the other pouring over some scrolls at the table near the window.

The comtesse herself is dressed for the hunt, checking herself in a tall looking glass. Hanzo stands near the door with growing discomfort until finally the comtesse seems pleased with her appearance. She then turns to appraise him and he tries with some difficulty not to squirm under her gaze, eyes downcast.

“What is your name?” she asks.

He tells her, “I am called Wolfskin.”

She makes a thoughtful little noise, but if she does not believe him she does not press on it.

“And what brings you to this court, Wolfskin?”

“I was in need of shelter so I work where I am needed.”

“Lift your head, let me see your face.”

Hanzo does not think he can refuse her. She had spoken firmly, unlike the king, so he does as she asks, though with some reluctance. The skin hides him well, but there is no mistaking the look in her eyes as she observes him from a polite distance.

“As I thought,” she says at last, when the silence has almost begun to eat at his bones. He could choke on the fear that creeps into his heart: _she knows, somehow she knows and he is not safe here any longer_. But then she speaks again and breath almost spills into his lungs, allowing him to breathe. “You are unsightly. Why do you wear this?”

“I must,” he barely manages through the constraint in his throat.

“Well that simply won’t do,” she says. “To hide yourself beneath that skin is folly. I could have you dressed in riches that might reflect your beauty.”

“For what purpose, My Lady?”

“Perhaps I am intrigued. There is so little to entertain me here.”

“I fear I would provide little entertainment, even with Your generous efforts.”

A little laugh from one of the ladies-in-waiting startles him.

“You were right, Amélie. He does not speak so plainly as the common folk.”

“Indeed he does not,” says the comtesse and she is smiling openly at him now, a dangerous little thing that shows her teeth. “I would have something made for him, so that he does not forget himself.”

 “How can you know me,” Hanzo asks, alarmed all over again, hands shaking. “I am only a servant.”

Her smile turns secret, like she knows something he does not. “It takes royalty to recognize royalty,” she tells him.

“You are gracious and I am thankful,” says Hanzo. “But I must remain hidden.”

“Then remain hidden you will,” she promises. “You may go now, Wolfskin. I shall ask for you again in a week’s time.”

It might well be the longest week of Hanzo’s entire life. He wonders how much trust he can put in her words, wonders what she knows and why she would do anything for him. He wonders where he might go next, but the wolf does not appear to guide him. So he stays.

The week passes and the comtesse sends for him. He watches in awe as her ladies-in-waiting lay out for him a complex attire made of no less than eight pieces; white as freshly fallen snow, red as the desert and golden as the sun, the beautiful garments that have been woven from spidersilk look worthy of an emperor. They remind Hanzo of the _sokutai_ that his father would wear and, once the thought strikes him, it becomes obvious to him that this is exactly what this dress is.

“I cannot accept this,” says Hanzo. The comtesse only tuts at him, lamenting that she cannot see him wear the _sokutai_. “It is my gift to you,” she says. “Think of it as favour for an old friend.” She assures him not to mistake it for kindness. “Perhaps one day,” she says as the attire gets packed away inside an ordinary chest, hidden beneath tools and supplies so that even Wolfskin can take it to his modest quarters and raise no suspicion. “But try it on tonight, so that you may alert me of any adjustments that might need to be made.”

Hanzo is doubtful yet overwhelmingly thankful for this shred of dignity that has been returned to him. He feels unworthy of it and he looks for work though it is Sunday, hoping that in hard work he might become more deserving of the gift. But that night he packs the garments inside a cloth and carries them with him down to the stream, down the steep rock as the full moon shines and lights his way.

He bathes in the stream and washes himself in moonlight before putting on the dress. The moon shows him his reflection in the running water, blurry yet beautiful still. The _sokutai_ fits him perfectly. He looks and feels like the royalty he is, dressed in silk and pearls, clean with a soft blush over his cheeks and a curtain of dark hair that falls over his shoulders and back. The wolf skin lies discarded on the ground beside him as he basks in the flicker of moonlight, kneeling near the water.

What Hanzo does not know is that the moon likes to keep the king awake, and so he wanders, as often he does, through the long hallways of his home. What Hanzo does not see are the tall windows overlooking the gorge and the king who has taken a peek outside. And while Hanzo closes his eyes to breathe deeply in this moment when he feels almost peaceful, almost like himself again-

-the king, entirely enchanted, cannot look away.

 

-

 

 **J** esse dismisses what he saw for a dream that perhaps the moon gifted him with her love for visions and trickery. In any case there are things to attend to and matters to discuss and they keep him so busy that he has almost forgotten all about the beautiful man – at least until the next night and the next night he is there again.

The heat and the wind on his skin feel very much like it is not a dream at all. And yet. He watches again as the man sits on the edge of the water, combing out his long hair. He is afraid that if he looks away, even for a moment, the vision will disappear and he will wake up. But on the third night he is too curious, too restless and when he sees the man down in the gorge he determines that he must meet him. It is a long walk down the steep paths with only the moonlight to show him the way.

By the time Jesse gets to the stream, the man is gone.

“You look very mysterious,” Fareeha tells him the following morning. Jesse glances over at her over breakfast and says, “I’ve had some things on my mind.”

“Be careful not to think too hard,” she teases him. “The doctors might think you are sick.”

He grimaces and stops himself of saying something foul, but the grimace melts away when he thinks again of the man. “Reckon I saw an angel.”

Fareeha frowns, “Perhaps you really are sick. You haven’t touched your breakfast.”

“I can’t eat when I think of him. Fareeha, he was the most beautiful man I ever did see. If he was not an angel, then surely he descended from some other creature of myth.”

“Are you certain you have not dreamt it?”

Jesse only shrugs at her so she addresses the woman across from her, their only other companion at the table and at Jesse’s left. “My Dear Comtesse, have you any thoughts on the matter?”

The Comtesse Guillard finishes taking a sip of her wine before she speaks: “It would appear our king has had many strange things appear before him lately.”

“She means the wolf,” Jesse says at Fareeha’s confused look. So far as she knew, Jesse had not told anyone else about what he had seen.

“You told her about the wolf?”

“Of course. It’s why I called her here.”

“Then do you intend to hunt it?”

“Not exactly.” Jesse grimaces at the thought. “But Amélie is something of an expert.”

“I have hunted many extraordinary creatures,” explains the comtesse. “Tough I fail to see what might be so strange about a wolf.”

“I told you, it ain’t just a wolf,” says Jesse, ignoring the way she frowns at him when his speech slips into something less than formal. Sometimes they forget, though Jesse would never dare, that Jesse was not born to be king. But that is another tale entirely. “It was much bigger than your ordinary beast and I never saw it come or go. It was just before me one moment and gone in the next.”

“In any case, I did promise to try and track it,” says the comtesse. “Perhaps then we can learn more about it.”

They continue to eat in silence until the comtesse bids them farewell and Jesse and Fareeha make their way towards the training grounds to practice swordfight, as is their daily routine. They do not speak more of Jesse’s vision until they are alone. Then he whispers to her: “Come with me tonight. Down to the stream. That is where I saw him.”

She agrees reluctantly and with some expression of doubt, and in the evening when he comes calling she follows him into the night. The moon does not shine so brightly anymore, and they must take a light down the treacherous path. The man is not there, neither that night nor the next. Fareeha tells him he should get some sleep, he looks like he has not slept properly in days.

Jesse eventually listens to her.

It is not until the next full moon, and Jesse has forgotten almost entirely, that the moon whispers into his ear again, keeping sleep just out of reach. As soon as he passes by the windows overlooking the gorge he sees him. As soon as he sees him Jesse runs to the path and makes his way down.

He’s not there.

The following night Jesse does not even try to sleep. He abandons his duties early; his advisors fear he has taken ill. He tells them all not to bother him and goes to the stream to wait for the vision. Almost as an afterthought he hides, and he thinks he has hidden well until the moon has moved halfway across the sky. Jesse falls asleep in the gorge and, so far as he knows, the vision does not come.

 

-

 

 **H** anzo has found a new freedom with the fine dress and so he abandons the Sundays in favour of three nights during full moons when the light is almost enough to show his reflection properly. He knows it might be foolish, but the thrill of finding himself again in those short nights far outweighs the fear or common sense.

Sometimes the comtesse asks for him, sits him in her quarters and offers him tea. She seems to find strange joy in his delight, but when prompted for explanation she avoids any clear reply. Instead she tells him that the king has called her to court to find some strange beast in the forest. Sickness spills inside his gut when he thinks of her dressed for the hunt and it is then that she smiles that secret smile again, tells him to put his fears to rest.

“I would not dare harm this creature,” she says. “But the king is curious and so am I. Some misfortune brought it here, do you think?”

Sometimes Hanzo is not sure whether she is referring to the wolf or himself.

“I could not tell you, My Lady,” he says.

“No, I suppose not,” she agrees. “But such is the nature of all things, that in some part they must remain a mystery.”

 

-

 

 **W** hen the hunt yields no answers, there remains only one other person that Jesse is sure must know something about the wolf. After all it seemed that the wolf had led him to him, though for what purpose he did not know. So he goes to see Wolfskin, all the way to the little hut in the forest. He goes early on a Sunday, when he is certain that Wolfskin will not be working.

He leaves his horse tied to a tree at the same spot as last time and as last time makes the rest of his journey on foot. He spots Wolfskin immediately as he approaches the hut; the man looks busy with something on the ground. Jesse thinks it best to announce himself before coming closer.

“Hello again,” he calls.

Wolfskin does not seem startled; he must have heard Jesse making his way through the forest. But he does not rise to greet him, rather speaks from where he is crouched as his hands carefully wrap around something out of Jesse’s sight. “A moment, Your Highness, I do not wish to alarm her.”

Jesse approaches quietly and peeks over the man’s shoulder as he stands up. In his hands there is a little bird, barely feathered and chirping insistently in the shelter of Wolfskin’s hands.

“Must’ve fallen out of its nest,” Jesse says just to say something, so unexpected is the image he has stumbled upon. Wolfskin agrees with a little sigh and lifts his head to look to the trees.

And _oh_ , Jesse thinks, he is not disfigured at all.

Wolfskin does not seem concerned at all that his face might be in plain view as his eyes search the branches for the nest. He is covered in dirt, yes, but his features look pretty despite it; dark eyes and a proud nose, high cheekbones and a strong jaw covered in dark hair.

“Up there,” he says suddenly and Jesse promptly closes his mouth. “Can you hold her for a moment?” Wolfskin hands him the bird despite Jesse’s sputtering and Jesse lets it rest in his open palms, afraid that he might hurt it. “What are you- hey that doesn’t look safe!”

He watches as Wolfskin climbs the tree, seemingly with no difficulty at all. Wolfskin only reaches out a hand once he has found a nice perch and climbs one-handed once Jesse hands him back the bird, all the way up to the nest.

“Well then.” Jesse shakes his head and runs a hand through his hair. Wolfskin places the bird gently back inside its nest, then climbs down with the same ease that took him up in the first place. Legs firmly on ground again, Jesse is disappointed to find his eyes downcast as well.

“How may I be of service?” asks Wolfskin.

“Right,” says Jesse. “Do you mind if I come inside?”

Now that he has nothing else to focus on, Wolfskin is back to his usual appearance of some discomfort. “I have nothing to offer Your Highness.”

“That’s okay. I just wanted to ask you something.”

Wolfskin’s shoulders slump a little and he gestures lightly with his hand that Jesse might follow him. He leads Jesse inside the hut that is just as poor on the inside as it looks from the outside: a little table sits near the hearth with a stub of a candle on it and a single chair; a straw bed is pushed in from corner to corner against one wall of the hut; and beside it rests an ordinary chest that probably holds his things, what little Wolfskin has.

Wolfskin offers him the chair and Jesse takes it, as Wolfskin himself stands back and says, “What is it that you wished to ask me?”

“Remember how sometime back I asked you about a wolf?”

“Yes, Your Highness.”

“Well, I ain’t seen it since, but it must still be out there somewhere, right?”

“I am afraid I would not know, Your Highness.”

“Then you haven’t seen anything, either? Not heard any howls by chance?”

“Only that of the passing coyotes, Your Highness.”

Jesse hums thoughtfully, looking to his left at the unlit fireplace. “You don’t gotta say that every time.”

“What is that, Your-”

“That,” Jesse interrupts. “There ain’t no one here but you and me and it’s a bit of a mouthful.”

“You are the king,” Wolfskin reminds him. From his tone Jesse thinks he might be laughing at him, but if he is concerned by Jesse’s crude expression he does not mention it.  Jesse doesn’t say anything and stares at a little cast-iron teapot hung by the handle inside the fireplace. So Wolfskin asks, “Would you like some tea?”

And Jesse says, “Yes please.”

Wolfskin goes about the task of filling the teapot with water and lighting up the fire as Jesse sits in what he thinks is almost comfortable silence. He sets out a cup for Jesse, but not for himself, and Jesse thinks he might only have the one. Then as the water boils and Wolfskin puts leaves inside it: “If I may, why are you so interested in the wolf?”

Jesse does not miss the way he says it as if he believes the wolf is real, despite his prior claims of having not heard or seen any sign of it. He says, “There ain’t any wolves around here, did you know? Then this one appears at the same time as,” he pauses, says, “something else.”

“Something else that you found strange?” Wolfskin prompts.

Jesse thinks to hell with it and says, “Someone, rather. Though he might well have been a dream.”

“And do you often put much stock in dreams and visions?” Again Jesse feels as if Wolfskin is almost laughing at him. Wolfskin picks up the teapot by the handle to pour the tea for Jesse.

“Only when I think they might be trying to tell me something,” says Jesse. “Though I haven’t figured out what it is yet.”

“The forest holds many unexplained secrets.”

“Oh, actually this someone I saw was down in the gorge.”

Wolfskin’s hands stiffen on the handle as he pours, so briefly that Jesse might have missed it had he not been looking. “Come to think of it, when did you start working at my court?”

Stiffly Wolfskin says, “Some months ago, Your Highness.”

“You ever been down by the stream?”

“I would not know the way, Your Highness.”

That seems... plausible, if Jesse’s honest. The paths are hidden but for wildlife and the one Jesse is familiar with. It is a long way around from the castle and his guards would have seen someone pass. Especially someone so obvious as Wolfskin. And yet, he thinks, the timing is right. There had been no wolf before Wolfskin came to his court and no man until he called Amélie to help him investigate.

He eyes Wolfskin suspiciously.

“You’re not a witch, are you?”

This startles a laugh out of Wolfskin, which in turn startles Jesse. It’s a pretty laugh, though Wolfskin stops himself quickly.

“What?”

“Reckon it’s silly,” says Jesse. “I just thought maybe there is a curse, and both the wolf and the man are the same.”

“Then do you think I cursed him and hold him in my service?”

“Maybe.” Jesse grins. He has been speaking so freely and so easily to Wolfskin, it might well be that the strange man has put a spell on him too. “You don’t even got a name to tell me, so what do I know?”

“You know what I am called,” says Wolfskin.

Jesse says, “It ain’t the same.”

He drinks his tea and thinks what a strange morning he is having. He watches Wolfskin as the man looks for something to occupy himself with. It appears Wolfskin does not mind speaking so much to Jesse as he needs to fidget with something else when he is not. Jesse thinks again of the bird outside and how Wolfskin was so focused on helping it that he had forgotten himself. In a moment of folly, perhaps, Jesse says: “You know I saw your face out there.”

Just as some weeks ago, when Jesse first asked to see him, Wolfskin immediately stiffens at the words. But what is done is done so Jesse continues, “Back when you were looking for the nest. You’re not disfigured so why do you wear the skin?”

Wolfskin stares at the floor and looks as if he might hide or flee, despite it being his hut and Jesse being the intruder. In the end he does neither, but he speaks very softly as if he should not be speaking at all.

“I must.”

Something in the way he says it makes Jesse’s chest tighten with sorrow. Whatever the reason it must be very painful for Wolfskin as well. So he does not push. He says sorry and finishes his tea, and leaves soon after.

 

-

 

 **O** nce the king has gone, Hanzo is left shaking. _Foolish_ , he thinks, and _dangerous._ So close was the king to uncovering his secret, but worse is that Hanzo would have _let him_. And would that not raise more questions, that Hanzo then would not be able to answer?

He feels... dizzy with some undefined emotion. Oh to sit in court and dine with the king, in his beautiful dress and fine pearls. Instead he is confined to this- this ugly mask and an infinity of wonderings. Had Genji ever found the Shambali? And if yes, would they even know anything of Hanzo’s curse? And if _yes_ , could his brother be looking for him, only unable to find him? No, he must stay and stay quietly. This was the place he was led to and the wolf would guide Genji as well. The king must not know that Wolfskin goes to the stream, not until Hanzo can at least tell him his name. But then, perhaps then-

Should he even go to the stream, now that he knows that the king has seen him? His heart freezes at the thought that his only respite in this world should be forfeit. The king did not seem to recognize him, even though he saw Wolfskin’s face. Perhaps it would be fine, so long as he did not see Hanzo’s either. The king is, after all, quite pleasant to talk to and perhaps he would visit Wolfskin again.

So Hanzo takes the nights and the full moons, keeps them like a thief as he scales the rock. He wonders if the king is watching as he goes about his routine, cleaning himself and putting on the _sokutai_. Then he notices him on the third night of the third moon, catches his reflection in a small hand mirror that the comtesse had given Wolfskin once he told her he only saw himself in the blurry water. But Hanzo does not hide himself or flee, despite the first fluttering fear that grabs his heart once it is confirmed that yes, the king goes out to look for him. This is the only time that he is allowed a private moment to feel beautiful. So long as the king does not venture close.

So maybe Hanzo enjoys the attention a little bit as he preens and combs out his hair. He keeps the mirror angled so that he can watch the king in turn, far up still, half-hidden behind the rock. He is such a funny man, peeking out and falling back again. He takes a long time deciding, but when he does step out Hanzo is quick to pick up the wolfskin and go the other way.

“Wait,” he hears the king call and has to forcibly fight his heart that begs him to stop. The king is not very agile, not so sure in his step. Hanzo outruns him easily. “Please wait,” he calls after Hanzo, but Wolfskin has disappeared into the night.


	3. Chapter 3

“ **I** ’ve seen worse. You’re going to live.”

“I think I might be dying,” Jesse says in spite it. “I’m either dying or delirious.”

“You are a foolish boy,” Ana tells him. She is Fareeha’s mother and the Royal Physician. “If you wish for something then go and get it.”

“I’ve tried,” Jesse cries, curling up on his bed like a miserable child. “But every time I get close he disappears!”

“Then perhaps you are looking in the wrong place,” she says. “Take your medicine.”

Jesse dutifully drinks the tea, but stares frowning at her over the edge of his cup. She looks at him pointedly until he has emptied the cup and then he is allowed to speak again.

“I think I might know who I am looking for, but if I look for him the court will think me mad.”

“The court already thinks you mad,” Ana says, waving her hand dismissively. “For frolicking through the fields with the common folk.” She places her hand on his arm and says far more gently, “But who cares what they think. You are a good king, you are just and kind. They will not deny you, even if they disagree. And in time they will understand.”

“You speak as if you know something I don’t,” Jesse says, eyeing her suspiciously. Ana just laughs at him and tells him to get some sleep.

The next morning he rides out with the comtesse. It is not so officially a hunt any longer as much as it is hope to find any clues at all. He is torn with want to find the wolf or the beautiful man, but as they ride close to the path that might lead them to Wolfskin he tugs the reins and goes the other way. He is not sure why he keeps both his visits to Wolfskin a secret, but he does so nonetheless.

“We checked this way already,” says the comtesse. “It seems folly to go this way again.”

The truth is they travelled the entire forest over the months since they first began their search, and never has there been any sign but for the little hut. Still Jesse is loath to lead her that way.

“Then we’ll check again, so many times we need to.”

She says, “You are so stubborn. Have you not thought perhaps this creature does not wish to be found?”

Jesse frowns at his reins. “You can always go back if you so wish.”

“Then I will do that. Do not stay out too long, My King.”

She leaves him to his brooding.

Jesse rides on until the sun has dipped down low and the trees cast heavy shadows around him. He starts back with the summer wind howling in his ears, his horse urged to gallop along the clear paths. Then the light hides from him and he is forced to go on slowly through the dark.

A deep growl sends a chill through his bones.

Before Jesse can react, a massive form jumps in front of his horse that whinnies in fear and bucks him off. Jesse falls to the ground and the horse canters off into the wood. In front of him is a terrifying sight; an angry bear that approaches even as Jesse hurries to his feet, reaching for his sword. It goes to attack and Jesse narrowly misses the sting of sharp claws.

He turns on the bear, sword in hand raised high above his head. It cuts through fur and nicks the skin, succeeding only in making the bear angrier. The beast strikes straight ahead, catching Jesse off-balance and he falls again, the bear upon him immediately. It is a crushing weight stopping his breath – and then suddenly it is gone.

Jesse blinks and rolls onto his side, pushes himself up on the arm holding his sword to see the wolf, snarling as it engages the bear in combat, cutting and biting as it positions itself in front of Jesse so that the bear may come no closer. Behind him there is the noise of twigs breaking and then Jesse is urged to get up, to hurry, to get away. Firm arms support him as he is all but dragged away from the sharp scent of blood that hits the air.

His hands tangle into something soft, fingers catching onto fur. He looks down and there is Wolfskin, hood down, face flushed and short of breath. He walks Jesse all the way back to his hut and Jesse does not fight him, only stares at the sharp features and the long curtain of hair at the other man’s back.

Wolfskin drops him at the side of the hut, up by the hard wood and into the soft grass. He goes inside and comes back with clear water and a cloth. “You are hurt,” he tells Jesse, as if scolding Jesse that he had not noticed something so obvious. Now that they’ve stopped running, Jesse can feel the burn at his side. He brings a hand to it and pulls away to find his palm darkened with blood. Wolfskin says, “Let me,” and Jesse can only nod in his fogged state of mind. So Wolfskin lowers himself to his knees and kneels between Jesse’s legs, brings the damp cloth to the tear in Jesse’s shirt.

The wound stings as Wolfskin cleans it, but his hands become gentle at Jesse’s sounds of protest. Once satisfied with that he pokes a little at Jesse’s side, eliciting a soft whine, a pained grunt. “The cut is not so bad,” he tells Jesse. “Though you might have broken a rib or two.”

“You saved my life,” Jesse tells him.

“The wolf did that,” says Wolfskin. “Have you not the sense to wear armour when riding out alone?”

Jesse... laughs.

Wolfskin stares at him as if offended and so Jesse laughs harder. He laughs until the pain in his side makes him stop and then he just stares at Wolfskin.

“Your hood is down,” he tells him. As always this makes Wolfskin draw away from him and he stands and pulls his hood up again, hiding his face. Jesse would like to follow him up but his legs refuse to cooperate, so he continues talking. “Why do you wear it?”

“I told you, I must.”

“You can’t always wear it, surely,” says Jesse. And then, more insistently, “Why must you hide?”

Wolfskin’s voice stutters over his words. They are spoken soft, in a whisper: “Because I am unworthy.”

Jesse tells him, “You’re beautiful.”

Silence.

Silence sounds with only the gentle fluttering of the forest at night, and then a sharp intake of breath from Wolfskin who shies away when at last Jesse stumbles onto his feet.

“It’s all connected, right? The wolf and the man I saw,” Jesse says though something prevents him from thinking clearly. “Who are you?”

Wolfskin says, “I beg that you do not ask me this. I cannot tell you.”

And Jesse wants to, he wants. But instead he says, “Fine.”

Wolfskin says, “The wolf will come back to guide you to the castle. You may stay inside until then.”

And he goes and Jesse follows, suddenly numb and cold inside. He falls asleep in the hut on the small bed made of straw, and he dreams of the great white wolf that carries him on his back through the night.

He wakes in his bed.

 

-

 

 **H** anzo wants to run.

He wants to leave and never look back, he would rather face the wrath of the clan elders all over again than stay. He prays for guidance and thinks of the king and he wishes for his brother to come find him already.

“Be patient, little emperor,” the wolf tells him. “Stay and be patient.”

“Why do you lead that man to me?” Hanzo asks. “What good could possibly come of it?”

The wolf curls his head over Hanzo’s shoulder, nudges his chest and says: “Are you not fond of the king?”

“That does not matter,” says Hanzo. “Because here I am no one.”

“You are someone,” the wolf tells him. “To someone. Even if you are no one to yourself.”

“You speak in riddles,” Hanzo complains. “Today more than ever.”

“Calm your heart, little emperor,” says the wolf. “And wait.”

So Hanzo listens and tries to do just that. That night he does not sleep, but meditates until his heartbeat has become a gentle song. He thinks on what he truly wants and sighs when the image of the king appears before his eyes. But what is to be done about that? The king would not marry a servant.

He stands determined with the rising sun and gets to work.

 

-

 

 **I** t takes a delicate hand to push all the pieces into motion. It is not a good plan, perhaps, but Jesse is desperate; he cannot eat or sleep, his thoughts are on Wolfskin. Fareeha beats him in the sparring ring, and Ana scolds them both for provoking Jesse’s injuries. The Court Physician checks his forehead and finds a fever, sends him to bed and her daughter to alert the court. The king is very ill, she says, and thus should not be disturbed.

The Comtesse Guillard disregards this almost as soon as she hears the news. She makes her way to Jesse’s rooms, hounded by a servant telling her she mustn’t go inside. She ignores him and stalks in, finds Jesse covered to his nose in white sheets, stands at the bottom of his bed with her hands on her hips.

“What folly do you suffer from now, then?” she asks.

Jesse only grunts in response, but Fareeha is by his bed and she says cheerfully: “It is love that makes wise men go mad.” She says, “Though I don’t suppose Jesse ever was very wise.”

“Shut up,” Jesse tells her. “Why are you here even?”

Fareeha says, “Mother asked me to watch you, in case you tried to sneak out. Again.”

“I’m sick.”

“You’re something,” she says and steals an apple from a silver tray by his bedside.

The comtesse eyes the tray filled with foods and asks, “Is it true that you have not eaten in days?”

“A day and a half. Two days tops,” says Jesse, sitting up and waving his hand a little. “The court is exaggerating, as usual. Actually it is good that you are here, I have a favour to ask.”

She huffs out an annoyed breath, but leans in to listen. “What is it?”

“I need you to help me plan a ball.”

And so Jesse explains that he wants to hold a ball and that he would like to invite servants and royal men alike. Everyone in his kingdom should receive an invite, he says, and the preparations should begin soon. The comtesse suggests that by the next full moon he should feel better and to hold the ball on such a night when the moon is high and heavy up in the sky. She promises to help plan out the event first thing come morning.

“I need you to do something as well,” Jesse tells Fareeha once the comtesse has gone. “Inside the forest there is a small hut.” And he tells her that Wolfskin lives there and explains to her how she might get there. “I want you to go to Wolfskin and tell him that he must make me a cake. I cannot eat unless it is a cake made by Wolfskin.”

She rolls her eyes at him but does as he asks and the next morning she travels to the hut to find Wolfskin. If he is surprised by the strange request he does not show it. She offers to take him to the castle kitchens but he has all the ingredients here, he says. If she would like to return tomorrow, the cake will be done and she can take it to the king.

 

-

 

 **H** anzo gathers wildberries in the forest, cleans up at the stream and back inside his hut he puts on the _sokutai_. He will bake the cake not as Wolfskin but as himself.

He starts by preparing the dough in a flat bowl: four full handfuls of flour and four fresh eggs laid that very morning; he adds a whole bowl of milk, nice and creamy, sprinkles it with sugar and mixes well; then a spoonful of sweet butter, a pinch of baking powder, a drop of honey and a dash of salt. He hums while kneading the dough, feeling almost silly that such a simple task should bring him such pleasure.

For he has been thinking, since that night with the king, and he has thought of how he might give him a clue who Hanzo is. Inside the chest with the _sokutai_ he had hidden his family ring. He takes it out now as the dough rests and holds it in his open palm. The curse forbids him to speak who he is and Hanzo had been trying to find a way to show the jewel to the king. But with the king’s request comes an opportunity, to let the king find the ring himself.

He takes in a breath as he thinks of a spell, and says this: “Oh little jewel, so shiny and bright, let my love know I am his tonight. And should he search where you belong, let no on but I put you on.”

He slips the present for the king inside the dough, bakes the cake for an hour until it is done, then lets it cool on the windowsill as he whips up some cream and washes the berries. The cake is soon decorated and ready. And when the king’s advisor comes to fetch the cake she takes it from Wolfskin, as expected.

 

-

 

 **J** esse savours each bite and it is the best cake he’s ever had, if only because he knows exactly who made it. He eats slowly so that he may enjoy this small treasure for as long possible. What he does not expect is for his fork to catch on something within the cake and the cake to hide actual treasure inside. He cleans off the ring, a precious thing set in gold with some insignia he’s never seen before. But he knows a clue when he sees one and smiles curled up on his bed with the ring on a pillow beside his head. _Find me,_ it tells him. And maybe just, _I am fond of you as well_. Jesse is certain now more than ever that there must be some enchantment on his Wolfskin.

He is not yet sure how to break it, but he has just enough time before the ball to figure it out. The ball, he thinks, was a clever idea. He has not forgotten the full moons and if only during that time Wolfskin goes to shed his skin, then perhaps Jesse can find a way to let him keep his fine dress even after the moon has thinned. Even if he is mistaken and the man does not come, he knows the ring belongs to Wolfskin. He would rather marry Wolfskin and let the court think him mad, if only Jesse can keep him for the rest of his days.

That night he dreams of Wolfskin, beautiful in his silk under the moonlight. His dream-self approaches and this time Wolfskin does not flee. Jesse holds his hands smiling like a fool in love that he is. There must be a spell at work because he thinks Wolfskin might just be dreaming about him too. _Find me_ , the moon whispers. _I will wait._

Jesse discusses the ball with Jack and Gabriel. He tells them that he has a ring that belongs to the one he loves and so he will only marry the one whom the ring fits. They do not care for the common folk, but if they think him mad they do not say it, for he is the king and they must follow his orders. This whim will pass soon, they decide among themselves. And, if the king has taken ill from love then the cure must be marriage. And, what better way to look for a future king or queen than a grand ball? Surely the fine jewel must belong to some lovely princess or perhaps at least a duke. Surely such a thing cannot belong to a servant, so who cares if they are invited?

Jesse asks Ana about the ring itself and she and Fareeha help him look through books and scrolls until they find a match. Ana looks on fondly as he thumbs over the jewel and hums to himself. Fareeha just laughs at him, like always.

Finally the moon shines full, up in the clear summer sky. Oh and the ball is a beautiful affair, with so many bright faces inside the castle halls. Though it is not difficult to tell a working hand from heavy wealth, Jesse knows not how Wolfskin will appear to him tonight. The wolf skin would be easy to spot, but then he thinks so would the fine dress he wore when he was not Wolfskin. But the ball lasts well into the night and still there is no sign of him.

Gentlefolk flock to him, having heard about the ring and Jesse’s declaration. He lets them all try it on at the urging of his advisors, but it does not fit anyone. On an on the hours stretch and different hands fall into his. Once or twice he worries that the ring might fit someone who is not Wolfskin, but it never does.

Weary from waiting, Jesse goes to sit down. He asks his advisors: “Did you invite everyone to the ball, as I asked?” They tell him, “Well, yes Your Highness.” And then, “Well, Your Highness, except Wolfskin. But he is so dirty and that awful skin would frighten the gentler folk. We thought that surely you did not mean to invite him as well.” Outraged and overtired, Jesse orders that they send for Wolfskin immediately. There are whispers of the mad king among them but they do as they are told and a servant is sent to find Wolfskin at once.

“You look tired, Your Highness.” Gabriel slips into the seat beside Jesse. “Perhaps you should go up and rest. “I am waiting,” Jesse tells him, “For the last guest.”

“And is this esteemed guest the one owner of your ring?” asks Gabriel, lifting a wine glass to his lips. “They must be strange indeed, when the ring does not fit anyone else in court.”

“You asking to try it on,” Jesse laughs and shakes his head. Gabriel only tells him not to be ridiculous and drinks more of his wine.

It is near morning that Wolfskin arrives to court. He is indeed dressed poorly and there is no telling what hides beneath the wolf skin, his face hidden like always from indignant glances. When Jesse stands up to approach him it raises a murmur; though the crowd steps back they crane their necks and watch with wide eyes as the king asks him to show his hand. It is clean.

“I thought I should return this,” Jesse tells him. He holds his hand gently and when he tries on the ring it fits perfectly on Wolfskin’s finger. The murmur dies. Even the music stops. “I’m sorry it took so long.”

“Do not worry yourself, Your Highness,” says Wolfskin. “Though I am glad to have it back.”

“I told the court I would marry whomever this ring should fit,” Jesse says again. He holds both his hands now, like he did once in a dream. Wolfskin asks, “And did you know then it would only fit me?”

Jesse laughs a little breathlessly. “To be right honest I did not. I worried later that it might fit someone else, even though I knew it was yours.”

Wolfskin hums thoughtfully. He says, “It would not have fit anyone else, so you are forgiven for your folly.” He says, “But I am still Wolfskin.”

“You are Wolfskin. You are kind and wise and you have worked hard at my court,” Jesse says and takes in a breath. “But you are also Hanzo Shimada, Emperor of the Shimada Empire. And though I stand before you as king, I am no more than a man that wishes only to marry you.” He finishes softly, “If you will have me.”

No sooner than the words are said does the wolf skin fall from Hanzo’s shoulders, a heavy weight finally shed to uncover the beautiful man underneath. There are gasps from the crowd once the frightful skin falls from the rich _sokutai_ , though the brightest jewel might be the smile that lights up Hanzo’s face.

“Nothing would make me happier, my love.”

And Jesse takes him for a dance with the rising sun, and he thinks the sun does not shine so bright as Hanzo in his arms _,_ free of the wolf skin at last.

 

-

 

 **I** n the days that follow, Hanzo tells Jesse all about the curse and the wolf who is his guardian and guide. He tells him of the awful request the clan elders had made of him and how the wolf skin protected him from their sight. He tells him of Genji, his only brother, and how he wishes to reunite with him.

So Jesse calls in favours from across the world until someone catches word on the wind that Genji had been seen travelling with one of the Shambali. Before they can find him, however, Genji finds them. He had followed the wolf.

The monk Zenyatta is pleasant company and Hanzo watches Genji watching him with the same fondness Hanzo holds for his king. And he _is_ his, as impossible as that might seem. He had broken the curse the clan elders placed on Hanzo without even knowing it. Zenyatta explains that though there is spirit in words, there are purer things that inspire the hearts of men. Once Hanzo was determined that Jesse learn who he is, he would have thought himself worthy again. And once Jesse found the meaning in the ring and he spoke Hanzo’s name, it was only a small push to lift the curse completely.

His brother is delighted to find that Hanzo had managed this all on his own. “Though I am sure you did not think of it like that at all,” Genji teases him. “But only to rule beside your king.”

Hanzo admits that he had not thought of going back to reclaim his Empire.

“You could do it, if you wished,” he tells Genji.

“I would like to travel the world,” says Genji. He smiles at Zenyatta and Hanzo smiles for them too, for such a happy turn of events. “Then do you not intend to go home?”

“Perhaps someday,” Hanzo says. He has no doubt Jesse would help him if he so desired. But there is time still, and the comtesse has informed Hanzo that he must let her plan the wedding ceremony.

He says,

“For now I have found a new one.”

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading ❤
> 
> Find me on tumblr: [keepmeaftermidnight](http://keepmeaftermidnight.tumblr.com/)


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